


Prince Charming

by junko



Series: Tag, You're It... [2]
Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drugs, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Prostitution, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 18:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4447607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Worick faces fall-out from having lost Big Mama a good customer; Nic tries to rescue him... with unexpected consequences and mixed-results for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prince Charming

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before our heroes are Benriya.... continues after "Like a Person."
> 
> MAJOR SPOILERS for the anime.

When Worick threw-up, the only thing that came out was cum. And that shit tasted far worse coming back up than it did going down.

He let his butt sag to floor of the tiny bathroom and, still hugging the rim, rested his head against the cool porcelain. This is what he got for losing Big Mama such a precious, repeat customer when Nic came sniffing around, needing help. She’d banished him to the back rooms, which were not much more than cheap ‘glory holes,’ and forced him to work through dinner break.

No surprise his stomach had rebelled. He guessed it was handy he was so close to a fucking toilet.

A loud rap startled him. Jesus fuck, couldn’t they give him a second to recover? 

When he heard it again, Worick realized it wasn’t the door, but the window. He glanced up to see Nic crouched on the outside ledge, giving him the sign for ‘hey, pay attention.’

After flushing, Worick stood on the toilet rim to work open the window. Of course, he could have left it closed, it wasn’t like Nic couldn’t read lips through the glass. But the cool air felt amazing on Worick’s face, and he used it as an excuse to pull out his cigarettes. “Hey, Nic,” Worick said, fishing around in his pockets until he found his pack. Still standing on the toilet lid, he crossed his arms on the window ledge, as though they were just hanging out. Nic couldn’t tell how raw his voice was from vomiting, anyway, so he croaked: “What brings you over here?”

The moonlight highlighted the hard edges of Nic’s face and the dark smudges under his eyes--those damn hawk-like eyes that saw everything, even the shit Worick would really rather they didn’t. 

_Small set back._ Nic signed. _The Christiano Family supplies Monroe with the Celebrer_.

Lighting up the smoke dangling between his lips, Worick took a deep drag. He failed to see how this news was a ‘small’ set back to their plans. It seemed like a big fucking problem that the Family with the connections to the drug Nic needed was under the aegis of the boss they were trying to break him away from. He studied the growing ash on the tip of the cigarette for a moment, and then flicked it out into the street below. “Can you intercept a shipment?”

Nic shrugged. _I could. I’d have to waste Galahad and Marco._

Which would mean another big overdose for Nic--not to mention that an action like that would turn the combined forces of Christiano and Monroe families on their asses. Nic might make it through the carnage, but they’d have to bail on the idea of staying in District 7, give up on trying to play the families off one another into a kind of detente. They’d have to commit to a life on the run, and that wouldn’t solve Nic’s long-term Celebrer problem, especially since he’d have to stay up in order to keep them alive. Eventually the pills they’d stashed would run out, and then so would their luck.

“So what the fuck, Nic? Are you telling me to get used to this gig? Are we giving up on the plan?”

Things unspoken flashed through Nic’s eyes. His gaze left Worick to linger on the details of the filthy bathroom. He shook his head. _The plan is the same._

Worick nodded, though he felt defeated. They weren’t getting out of this. Snubbing out his smoke, Worick put on a smile. “Great. I have to get back to work. Nice talking to you.”

#

Nic stayed crouched outside the window long after Worick disappeared back inside of the brothel. 

He glanced down at the alley below, watching the type of men who used the back entrance of Big Mama’s. His fingers curled tightly around the scabbard of his katana. 

He knew this was his fault. All of it. 

There were things he’d never be able to make up for, but maybe he could make this thing with Big Mama right. 

Maybe. 

If they let him in.

He tucked his tags under his shirt and buttoned it up. Through the open window, Nic carefully lowered the katana into the space between the toilet bowl and the wall. If there was trouble, he’d rather have the blade somewhere inside, somewhere nearby. He leaped down to the cobblestone alley and then went to stand in line with the others.

When it was his turn, he made his request: “ **A pRoPEr daTe.** ”

The bouncer looked a little confused, so Nic pulled a wad of cash from his pants' pocket. Ostensibly, Monroe paid him a salary, but it was shit. Nic had gotten in the habit of supplementing from whatever he found on the people he’d eliminated. The last guy had been loaded. Fanning out the bills, he let them speak their universal language, and, though it exhausted him, he spoke again: “ **WoRiCK ARcaNgelO. rESt of ThE NIghT. AlL mINe.** ”

#

Big Mama looked skeptical and impressed all at once. “Get off your knees, boy. You get a reprieve. One of your favorites showed up demanding a private performance.”

Worick stood up and clasped his hands and made a kissy, happy face. Without more than a backwards glance, he waved a hearty bye-bye to the poor sods left on duty. He tucked his arm under Big Mama’s meaty arm, and nearly skipped down the hall away from that place. “Oh, I am a lucky one! Which one? What’s her name? I can not wait to thank her all night long.”

Big Mama gave him a sidelong glance. “See, that’s the part that confuses me, Worick. This one ain’t your usual type. For one, he’s a guy. A runty, mean-ass looking guy with a scary voice.”

Fuck.

That had to be Nic.

What the fuck was Nic playing at now?? If Big Mama got wind that a Tag had stepped inside her joint, the back room would the least of the hell he’d have to pay.

Worick pasted on a smile and batted his eyelashes “I can’t help it if my reputation proceeds me!”

#

Nic opted to wait on the one chair in the room. He slouched against the battered springs, both his arms draped along the chair’s. The decor was some kind of ironic. It seemed to be trying to be the master bedroom of a fancy estate, except without any of the real expense or elegance. But there were echoes here, strong ones. Hints of things that unsettled Nic, made his stomach clench.

How Worick didn’t lose his shit getting fucked in a room like this Nic didn’t know.

When the door opened, Nic jumped to his feet. Not too fast, he was careful of that, but fast enough to look eager. He was ready for the presence of the big woman behind Worick, too, so he didn’t even hesitate. In two strides, he crossed the room and grabbed Worick by the back of the neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

Nic had never kissed a soul in his life. Not one. But he hoped his awkwardness would be mistaken as enthusiasm… or shyness… or whatever men might show each other at moments like this. Anyway, it was no surprise that Worick was right there, helping him out, encouraging him to open his mouth. Worick tasted like those damn cigarettes, which was… oddly comforting.

Trying to stay focused on the con, Nic let his hand run down Worick’s back to grab his ass.

Worick broke their kiss, surprised. And, for Big Mama’s benefit, Nic gave Worick his best evil grin.

Nic stayed focused on Worick’s face, so, although his peripheral vision caught that Big Mama had said something to them, he had no idea what it was. But, their show must have been acceptable, because she shut the door and left them alone. 

#

Okay, so this was unexpected. He’d just kissed Nic, or been kissed by him or... both. Sure, he knew it was a just supposed to be a con, but the solid presence of Nic’s arms around him felt… good. Really… good. 

And Nic had been so adorably innocent, too. It was so cute how he hadn’t known what to do. 

It was clear no one had kissed Nic in his whole miserable, brutish life. That was the sort of detail about Nic that cut Worick to the quick. It was the kind of information that made him take stupid risks to teach him to read and write and… how to sit in a fucking chair.

Now Worick wanted to be that guy again, the first--the first one to teach him how to kiss properly, how to… make love. 

Wait… he wanted to have sex with Nic? Really? Yeah… he kind of did, and that thought hit Worick like a bullet to the chest. His heart skipping like a schoolboy, Worick felt his whole body flush. It shouldn’t be such a fucking surprise. After all, he’d always known he was attracted to Nic. Nic was the most amazing person Worick had ever known, there was no one else like him, anywhere. He also knew he was very… possessive of Nic. No one had better talk trash about his Nic.

His…

Yeah… it was no secret that he wanted to be the one to own Nic, since, technically he did. But, that contract ugliness had never been the reason he’d offered that shithole of a mercenary money that fateful night. Worick had done it because he…

Fuck, because he was in love with Nic. 

Trembling fingertips reached up to stroke the contours of Nic’s face. He leaned in wanting another one of those amazing kisses. The kiss had been the most tender, beautifully dorky thing Worick had experienced possibly since… no, the truth was no one had ever kissed Worick like that, with so much emotion. So much.. openness and honesty. 

Yeah, no, this had been Worick’s first real kiss, too.

Before their lips met, Nic grabbed his wrist. “ **wHAt ArE yOU doINg?** ”

Oh. Oh shit.

Of course Nic didn’t feel the same. A sharp lance of pain seared through Worick’s damaged eye socket. He winced, letting the physical pain cover all other hurt, the way it always did.

“Nothing,” Worick insisted, once he’d recovered his breath. He lied through his fucking teeth and not very well, at that. “I...um, thought you had something in your hair.”

Nic glared at him for a heartbeat longer, and so he felt he needed to point out, “Also, you’re crushing my hand.”

Letting go with a push that nearly sent Worick stumbling backwards, Nic signed, his hands brisk and irritated: _Mama fucked you up on T.B._

Right, of course Nic would assume that. Only a fucked up whore would want to kiss him. Jesus Christ, what was he thinking?

Massaging his screaming eye socket, Worick glared at Nic with his good eye. “Fuck off. I’m clean. I just thought maybe you needed a fucking hug or something. So sue me!”

 _You’re lying._ Nic’s hands were moving like he punched the air. Worick felt each gesture like a blow, knocking the wind from his own lungs. _Don’t touch me._

Ugh. That hurt. Worick hadn’t thought he could feel any dirtier, more shamed….

 _Until you’re sober_.

Oh? That made Worick chuckle darkly, so sober it would be okay? Really?

Dropping his hand from his face, Worick tried to read Nic’s stony expression. Was there any truth to that, any at all? He’d grasp at any fucking straw, any tiny-ass chance that the tenderness of the kiss had, in fact, not been a hallucination. 

“You’re the one who started it,” Worick teased, trying to defuse the tension. “You kissed me first.”

Predictably, Nic said nothing. But, Worick could tell something in him relaxed. Then, Nic rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

Worick laughed for real now. “Ha, but you did! You can’t deny it.”

 _Fuck off_ , Nic signed, but it was friendly, a mutual tease.

Okay, so Worick hadn’t fucked everything up. At least they could still be friends. Well, why not? Nic was going to chalk it up to TB, anyway. Worick just had to face facts: he wasn’t the kind of guy people loved.

Or kissed for real.

He should know that, his father had only fucking told him that every damn day of his life.

Worick went over to the bed and sat on the edge, making the springs creak and moan obscenely. He dredged up a casual smile from somewhere and asked, “What the fuck are you doing here, anyway? You rob a bank or something? Mama tells me you put up enough cash for a ride to last until noon tomorrow. Nobody does that, you know that, right? I had to make up some shit that you were some kind of romantic who actually liked to wake up with your man. I was really glad you grabbed my ass, because I don’t think she bought that bullshit. Crazy, kinky motherfucker, now that she could understand.”

Nic frowned, then shrugged. _I needed a break. I thought you might, too._

Nic had taken up his usual relaxed guard, leaning up against the door, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The katana was missing; he must have hid it somewhere.

Damn it. Nic could stop being beautiful in that terrifyingly sexy way he had. That would help. A lot.

Crossing his long legs at the ankle, Worick leaned back on his arms. “Huh. Well, I guess we could sleep…” No, shit, bad idea. That was fraught. How the fuck would he keep from trying it on? Nic would fucking slaughter him, all the while thinking he was high as a kite. “Or, we could… hang out, I guess. It’s been forever since I let you beat me in a game of cards.”

Nic leveled him a steady gaze. _Let me?_

Worick rolled his eyes. “Or whatever. Thing is, the bouncers get jittery when clients are too quiet. They figure they might be into snuff, you know?”

Nic shook his head. Clearly, he didn’t know. 

“They’re going to think you’ve killed me,” Worick explained. “They’re going to check to see what we’re up to.”

 _So what?_ Nic signed. _It’s my money. I paid for what I want. Maybe I’m a pervert who gets off on strip poker_.

Worick laughed. Of course. Why not do whatever the fuck they wanted? Besides, no one in their right mind would argue with Nicolas Brown once he made up his mind about something. 

He sure as shit couldn’t.

#

Nic wished that Worick hadn’t insisted on taking him literally. 

They sat across from each other on the bed. Worick was already down to just his jeans and, one hoped, underwear. Although the way he chomped on that cigarette and grumbled at the cards in his hands, Nic figured maybe not so much.

He set his cards face down, leaned his back against one of the bed’s ridiculous four posters. _Just give up._

Worick shot him a pained look. “I could win this.”

Nic pointedly glanced to his single missing shoe. _Sure._

“I’m pretty sure you’re bluffing,” Worick insisted.

Of course he was. He always bluffed. He played every game like he had more in his hand than he actually did. A lot more. He gave Worick a cold grin. _Try me._

“Okay, I fold,” Worick said. The cigarette dangled at the edge of his crooked grin as he started unbuttoning his fly, “I guess it’s time to pay up!”

Reaching across the bed, Nic grabbed Worick’s shoulder to stop him and get his attention. _No. Don’t._

Worick looked… stricken. Like he’d been slapped. It had to be that damn TB, because Nic didn’t understand it otherwise. Why did Worick keep acting like this? Like, he was nothing but a whore. Like, his only recourse in any situation was to offer up his body for abuse?

The whole point in coming into this place tonight was so that he didn’t have to do any of it any more. For a little while, anyway. For as long as they had together.

Why was he looking so hurt at not having to, for once?

Worick turned his face away. His elbow rested on his upraised knee. Staring at the wall, he finished his cigarette. Then he reached for another one.

Nic sat back against the bedpost with a sigh. Fine. If this was what Worick wanted to do all night, let him. It was better than sucking off strangers in a filthy back room.

Kicking off his other shoe, Nic stretched his legs out the length of the bed. He stared up at the ridiculous fabric canopy overhead. Hearts. Really. Like anyone thought that the fucked-up shit that happened in this bed had anything to do with love. And what the fuck kind of sick-ass torture was that, making the person lying on their back stare up at some candy-colored, happy-clappy heart?

He glanced at Worick, who continued to smoke glumly. He’d turned himself all the way around, so that his legs hung off the side of the bed, his blind eye and his back resolutely to Nic. 

_Why the fuck are you mad at me?_ Nic signed, knowing full well he wasn’t being heard, _Didn’t I rescue you? Or… did you want to stay there? Sucking all those jerkwads off? Is this like your father all over again? Are you somehow mad at me for stopping the abuse? Is there something going on here I don’t understand?_

Finishing the second cigarette, Worick stubbed it out in the ashtray by the bedside. He let out a long yawn, muscles rippling along his back. Turning to face Nic, he’d put on his empty-happy face again. “I’m tired,” he said. “Would it be alright with you, boss, if I took off my jeans to sleep?”

Nic frowned. There were so many things that pissed him off about that little smartass remark. ‘Boss’? That was ripe, coming from the guy who owned his contract.

Pulling himself from the bed, Nic ignored the bait. It kind of seemed like Worick wanted a fight, and Nic hated when they fought. It unsettled him. Deeply. So instead, he announced: _I need to piss._

“I think you know where the bathroom is.”

What was with this bullshit, bringing up the bathroom and looking at him like he was the one who was cruising for a blow? Nic shook his head. _What the fuck is wrong with you? Is that it? Are you pissed off because I paid for you?_

Worick cupped his eye like it pained him. Then, scrubbing his face, he let out a long breath. “No, no, I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about. I’m just tired,” he said, with that thin smile Nic was beginning to loathe. “It’s been a long day.”

Nic hesitated. On face value, the words could be read one way, but Worick’s body language told another story. 

“Go ahead,” Worick said. “I’m fine.”

Nic could tell that Worick was so far from fine, it wasn’t even funny. But he didn’t know what to do about it. The company he’d kept growing up hadn’t exactly taught him how to comfort someone. All Nic knew to do was call Worick on his bullshit and smack him on top of the head. 

And that’s not what normal people did.

This was why Nic hated fighting with Worick. He made him feel ...inhuman. Like he was missing some integral part of being able to function like a normal person.

Nic knew he wasn’t a Normal, but during his time with Worick he could at least pretend he was.

“Aren’t you going to piss your pants if you stand around any longer?” Worick teased.

One last ditch effort at playing at human: _You’re hurt. I don’t know how to help._

Worick’s eyes went wide. “I… what? Oh, fuck.” Then, he buried his face in his hands and his shoulders shook.

Oh. Tears. Oddly, crying was something Nic understood. Worick had done it before when they were on the streets. Nic knew what to do. He went back to the bed and put his an arm around Worick. This would pass if he held him long enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I seem to be doing a series. I'm going to try to link everything together. (Wish me luck.)


End file.
